


Fantastic Imagines and Where to Read Them

by greenmamba5



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Newt Scamander, Asexual erasure, Credence is a BAMF, Credence learns about sexy things, Gen, Multi, Obscurus kink, Panromantic Newt Scamander, Physical Abuse, Praise Kink, handjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9297425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmamba5/pseuds/greenmamba5
Summary: A collection of Credence- and Newt-centric imagines. Splash of Reader involvement as needed.Accepting requests for Credence and Newt imagines, Credence/Reader of either (or ambiguous) gender, Newt/Reader, Crewt, or OT3 Credence/Newt/Reader. I'll also accept any sexualities, but Asexual Newt gives me life.





	1. Handjob (Credence x Reader) NSFW

**Author's Note:**

> I’m intentionally leaving the Reader’s gender ambiguous!  
> Credence is repressed and knows nothing about sex. Reader treats him to some gentle, loving TLC (Handjob)

Credence knew very little about love, attraction, arousal–his life spent at the church had left no room to explore those sensations and emotions. He knew that certain things would trigger a stiffness in the most vulgar area of his body–

(Waking early after a restful sleep, he stretched and his blanket dragged over his hips.)

(He was in town, keeping an eye out for new faces when he saw a happy couple holding hands–the woman smiled and trailed her hand up her beau’s arm. When her fingers tentatively touched his neck, Credence shuddered at the sight.)

–He didn’t usually pay it any mind, but one night he had thought to investigate. When that part of him stood erect, the slightest graze of contact would send a shiver up his spine.

Curious, he had inched his hand lower, barely brushing his swollen head through the worn material of his nightclothes. It had felt like a vibrating warmth radiating from the pit of his stomach. He liked it, liked the wiggling feeling, and his fingertips nudged at his waistband.

Dipping in, he suppressed a gasp at the feel of skin-on-skin. He’d felt himself limp before, naturally, during routine bathing or relieving himself, but this was something new entirely. He was ramrod stiff, skin pulled taut and blood circulating hot under the surface. He probed at the vein on the underside and groaned softly at the feeling of it.

His mind wandered to comfortable but very unfamiliar places. He imagined having someone who cared for him, someone who would hold his hand openly, lock their arm in his. He imagined someone smaller than him, for no particular reason, who would lean into him, kiss his cheek, smile and maybe even laugh with him. The thoughts sent a pleasurable jolt through him, and his fingers felt like fire against his skin.

He traced the underside of his head, feeling a raised line there. He had acquired bits and pieces of information over the years, from Ma from the others boys that came and went from the church, that the light scar was not common. That is was the product of some procedure performed at birth. That Ma found it vile. That it meant he had come from a wicked, awful woman, a non-Christian woman. Credence had never known a difference, had nothing to compare himself to.

He continued to stroke at himself, feeling something nice building in his chest. He knew he had to stay quiet, lest he alert anyone, but a moan was bubbling in his throat. His calloused fingertip played at the tip, pressing at the slit. It was… wet, weeping, and his finger slipped on the slick fluid. He palmed himself more fully, breathing heavily, and–

His door flew open, light pouring into his room. He started with a choked sob, yanking his hand out of his pants. He prayed that the blanket over him would hide his shame, but he trembled as a familiar overbearing shadow stretched onto the wall.

“Credence, the printshop made a late delivery.” Ma’s voice, it was tired and annoyed. “Be a dear and go fetch the pamphlets from outside.”

“Y-yes, Ma,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “I’ll be down once I get my coat.”

She was silent for a moment. He tried to move, tried to roll out of bed in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He was shaky, though, and it didn’t go unnoticed. “Credence, is something the matter?”

He sat up, keeping his back to her. “Just feeling tired. I’ll come straight to bed after I bring in the papers.”

He was still erect and he couldn’t risk standing. His pajama pants were already a bit small and they certainly wouldn’t hide anything. When he didn’t move, he could hear his Ma stepping closer.

She knew. He could feel her glare burning the back of his head. She knew and was approaching him and–

“Credence, stand up.”

When she confirmed it–

“Ma, I’m not really feeling well, I–”

“Do you take me for a fool?” She cut in front of him. He ducked his head, couldn’t bear to see the look on her face, didn’t really need to to know the exact enraged expression. “You dare–in my house! After all that I’ve done for you, the shelter I’ve provided, you dare to act out your sin under this roof–”

Apologies did nothing to lessen her anger. He had been forced to drop his pants and the belt had cut hot gashes into his thighs. She had even flipped the buckle end forward for a couple of lashes that gouged deep. He bled and ached.

The next day the door had been removed from his room.

He vowed to never explore that lewd sensation again.

————-

Old fears die hard.

Credence had been with you for long enough now that a sort of comfort had been established. You kept close to him at all times, made sure he was eating properly, brought him textbooks so he could begin learning the basics of magic. He loved touching and being touched, was absolutely starved for contact, and you happily obliged that need. You sat close, held hands, leaned into him or let him lean into you.

Recently, you had even begun kissing everywhere that he would allow–cheeks, forehead, lips, even down to his neck. He had become comfortable with full-mouth kisses, and, if you caught him in a particularly needy moment, he would even gladly lap his tongue out against yours, sighing when you nibbled at his lips.

That was as far as it ever went, though. If he ever became properly aroused, he would retreat immediately, even apologizing if his erection happened to be too obvious. His cheeks would flush and he would quickly move away, becoming quiet and shamed until he had settled down again.

To this, you comforted him but didn’t push anything. Sure, you were also quite enjoying the kissing and necking, becoming hot and heavy and sometimes desperate for the next step… but this was Credence. He was vulnerable and you knew it, and you feared that pressing him into continuing when he felt so embarrassed might be the end of him.

——-

Familiarity and comfort caused Credence to unravel, bit by bit. Though he couldn’t fathom a reason why you’d humor his depraved desires, he was noticing how… intimate you were becoming with him.

You never hesitated to walk hand-in-hand with him–even in public–never grew impatient when he asked very rudimentary questions about the magical world, and coddled him as though he was everything to you.

More and more, he was sure that you were becoming everything to him. Worse, he was noticing how simple actions from you were causing his Obscurus to leap to the forefront, making his chest feel painfully tight. Before, contact with his bare skin or kissing had been the only triggers, but now very mundane things were parading in sinful thoughts and the dark magic he felt sure was intertwined with them.

(If he ever inquired about a strange food, you were quick to offer him a taste, and his heart skipped when you held the bite out to him. You would watch him closely as you fed him, gauging his reaction, and he always felt pleasantly hot under your gaze.)

(He enjoyed when you read to him, especially if you were reciting spells. It was becoming harder to suppress the swelling–figurative and literal–when your voice pitched in a specific, pleasing tone or if a string of spells sounded particularly lovely.)

(He had decided to wear his hair long once his horrid straight cut had finally grown out. You would comment some days that his hair was getting longer and your fingers would shuffle through the dark locks… lovingly. Fortunately, his hair wasn’t growing all that fast and so you hadn’t commented often on the length–he practically had to excuse himself every time.)

Sometimes he reached a low point, at least what he considered low, and he revisited the time he’d attempted to touch himself. He remembered how warm and nice it had felt to imagine someone being kind to him as he…

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. If he entertained his vulgarity even in the slightest, his imaginings would drift too easily to you. Though you treated him affectionately, he refused to believe that you would be anything but appalled if he suggested… whatever it was that he was skirting around. Did he just want to imagine you while he shamefully touched himself? Did he want you directly involved?

He wasn’t sure himself, and, if he was being honest, he feared that his Obscurus was tied directly to the pressure that built whenever he humored the thoughts. The few times he had allowed himself to delve even slightly into the sensation, it had felt too similar to the feeling of his Obscurus bursting out.

It was troubling. His heart ached every time he pulled away from you, but he absolutely couldn’t forgive himself if his magic harmed you. So, he pushed the thoughts down, the desires away.

———

A cold front swept through on a day that you were out together. It was a leisurely sort of day and the two of you were running errands. You suggested catching a bus instead of Apparating from destination to destination. At the stop, you shivered and whined about the cold. Credence had worn thicker clothes, a cross between a wizard cloak and a long coat. You slid your hands into the front of the coat, snaking your arms around his waist and tucking yourself up to him. He wrapped the coat around you with a chuckle and–

Too close, too warm. Your breath tickled his neck, chilled lips brushing his skin. Your fingers tapped at the small of his back. Credence thought wildly that you were acting intentionally–you were doing this on purpose, just had to be. The intimacy of the gesture, moving in to share his coat, hit him full force, and he couldn’t curb that familiar tug in the pit of his stomach, the churning of his Obscurus, the tightness between his legs.

You noticed immediately, and stared up at him. “Credence, are you–”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He would have stepped away from you, but then his shame would be out in the open for any passerby to see “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” The tenderness of your voice did nothing to improve his condition. “It’s okay, really. Do we need to Apparate home?”

“Yes,” he said shamefully. “Yes. Now, please.”

“Of course.” You shuffled in your pockets, careful not to move away from him, and retrieved your wand. Thankfully, you were surrounded by other magical people. You thought of home and disappeared in a swirl.

————

When you arrived home, Credence’s mind was flooding. You had wiggled into his coat, touched him in public, treated him so gently when he was panicking. Clarity hit him like a brick.

People did not act like that with people they weren’t interested in. He recounted all the intimate acts you had openly performed toward him. It was so obvious. His mind reeled. Flirting. It was flirting–you had been–

He gazed down at you, becoming aware that you hadn’t moved away from him since the return. Your cheeks were flushed, though not just from the cold, and your hands rested on his chest.

“Credence, I’m sorry for making things awkward,” you said quietly. “Are you okay? Do you need me to leave you alone for a bit? I can–”

He cut you short with a kiss. It was uncharacteristic of him to initiate, but you didn’t hesitate in returning the gesture.

He panted against you, his kiss deepening. He lavished your tongue, nipping at your lips the way you often did at his. You pressed into him, relishing his heat. His Obscurus was humming in anticipation, like it could snake out at any moment. You snuggled close, wanting to melt into his embrace and he groaned as you grazed–

He reluctantly pulled back. You had brushed his erection and he was fleeing to cool down, as he usually did. You gripped his hip, stilling him, and rasped, “We don’t have to stop. I don’t mind.”

He felt like hiding, like a belt would be coming down on him any minute. “I don’t–it’s sinful–I could never–”

“It isn’t sinful,” you said plainly. “What you’re feeling is perfectly normal. There’s nothing wrong with it at all.”

“I can’t…”

“If you want to, you can,” you assured.

“Not to you…” he said, barely able to form the words. “I can’t do that to you.”

“Credence, listen to me,” you said. “Are you listening?” He nodded. “Look at me.” His eyes fluttered, like he was waiting to be slapped. His expression was tragic and you could feel all his trust, all the progress you had made with him, slipping. You had to take drastic measures, had to tell him the truth. “Sweetheart, I know that what you’re feeling is normal because I feel it too. I feel the same way for you.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes,” you assured. “I won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but if you’re holding back because you think I don’t want more…”

“You… would want…?”

“Oh, absolutely. If you wanted. I would be more than happy to–”

“I would just mess it up,” he said sadly. “I don’t… I don’t even know what–what I would…”

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t have to do anything,” you said. Your hands smoothed over his chest and he took a sharp breath. “Would you want to go further? I could–I mean, I wouldn’t mind… ”

He was aching, wanting.

And he was feeling brave.

“Could we… in the bedroom?”

You went starry-eyed in your excitement. “Yes, definitely!” You took his hands, leading him to your room.

————

You made quick work stripping out of you coat and relieving him of his. You led him to bed, motioning for him to lay back. He complied, crawling backwards up to the headboard.

He reclined into the pillows, watching with wonder as you settled over him, straddling his thighs. He honestly hadn’t the slightest clue what you had planned, but he was shamefully eager. Your weight over him was grounding and he was feeling less anxious now that he knew you wanted this too, that he wasn’t just pining after you unrequitedly.

Your hands fiddled at his waistband. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” His heart fluttered. “If you feel uncomfortable at all, please tell me. I don’t mind stopping at any time.”

“Okay,” he sighed. His eyes squeezed closed as you unbuttoned his trousers.

“Help me pull these down a bit?” you asked quietly, tracing the prominent jut of his hipbones. He nodded and shuffled his trousers and underwear down just enough that you could see the dark thatch of hair. You traced a finger from his navel down the thin black trail and stroked at the thicker curls. “You okay with a bit more or is this far enough?”

“M-more, I think,” he said shakily. You lifted your weight from him so he could push his clothes down further. He whimpered when the tip of his erection brushed the waist of his underwear and sprang free. The cool air of the room tingled on his skin, which was so terribly hot. He eyes remained closed and his breath was coming in shallow gasps.

Your hand ghosted around him as you took in the sight. “Is it okay if–can I touch?”

He nodded, chewing his lip. Your fingers gently pressed the thick girth of his shaft, outlining the network of veins. He was circumcised and had a telltale scar at the edge of his head. You traced that, as well, before stroking the soft bulb of his head. He gasped, biting his lip with enough force that you feared he might break skin.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you advised.

“Sounds,” he said, shuddering. “It’s hard not to… m-make noise.”

“You don’t have to hold it in,” you said, “Actually, if you make a sound, I’ll know I’m doing it right. So please–” You dragged your fingers down the length of him for emphasis and he groaned openly, his face flushing in embarrassment. “That’s it, let me know how it feels.”

You kissed his jaw, reeling at the sounds of his moans. He bucked into your hand, whining at the sensation. “Sweetheart, you’re doing so well,” you praised, feeling absolutely elated when he twitched in your hand. So he liked having his ego stroked? You could use that to your advantage. You placed kisses down to his neck and collarbone, whispering sweet nothings as you went.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Credence. That’s it.” He moaned low and long and you whispered, “You sound beautiful, love.” He jerked in your palm again and a quick swipe over his tip left your palm slick. You rubbed his precum over his head, squeezing, and his voice pitched up and cracked in a frantic gasp. His hair splayed out on the pillows, the ends extending like smoke as his Obscurus pulsed out. His whole body hummed in pleasure and his magic seeped out like mist, It was smooth and happy and warm and it lapped at the parts of you that were touching him.

The sensations left colors bursting behind his eyelids. You were still sitting on his thighs and he was somewhat thankful that he couldn’t thrust up fully into your hand. You were gripping, squeezing, petting and it felt so incredible that he could only manage scratchy whines in response. He could feel pressure building rapidly within him and when he opened his eyes, he could see the black haze of his Obscurus outlining him like a silhouette.

He panicked and his hands shot up to brace against your arms. “S-stop, stop!”

You froze, but didn’t pull away. “Okay, it’s okay–”

“It’s coming out,” he whimpered. “It feels like it did… then, in the subway. It’s going to come out.”

“Credence, your Obscurus has been out almost this whole time.”

“But I’m going to turn into it–! It’s so tight, it’ll just burst out–I can’t control it–I can’t–”

He was so close to completion, you realized. You suddenly understood. Credence had probably never orgasmed, had no idea what that would properly feel like. He was equating that to his Obscurus, was worried that he would change forms. Though you had no real evidence that he wouldn’t…

“Love, are you sure you don’t want me to continue?”

He cried, “I want you to, but you c-can’t. If I can’t control it–what if I hurt you?”

You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and squeezed, eliciting a pleased hiss from him. “I don’t think that what you think is going to happen will happen.”

“It will—it feels–”

“Does it feel good?” You pumped the length of him gently–he was dry, after all, and you worried about chafing him. He wiggled under you. “Can I make it a little better?”

“Better how?”

You removed your hands from him entirely, cast a wandless spell, and a thin oil coated your palm–a simple lubrication spell. You’d normally use it for creaky hinges, but it would work in a pinch.

Your hand circled him again, pumping smoothly down then up with a ‘pop’ over his head. He cried out, arching his back, and his Obscurus pulsed out from his skin. He didn’t know what that sensation was, exactly. It still felt like his magic trying to take him over, that urgent pressure. But, it also felt so, so good.

He raised his arms above his head, clutching at the pillows, and he nudged upwards into your hand. “Please,” he whined. “If you aren’t worried that I’ll–”

“I’m not.”

“Please don’t stop,” he begged. “At least, not yet. I still–may still–”

“If you change your mind, I’ll stop,” you assured.

He settled back shakily, trusting. You began sliding your hand up and down him again, gripping steadily. He groaned, arching against and nuzzling his head sideways into the pillows. A few short, deliberate strokes brought him to the edge again and his Obscurus swept up and over your thighs. It pressed close, slithering under the hem of your shirt and coiled around your waist. The closer he came to orgasm, the more touchy his magic became, throbbing against your skin.

His eyes fluttered open and, seeing his Obscurus wrapped around you, he asked, “I-is it hurting you?”

“Not at all,” you said. “It feels like it’s embracing me.”

“I can’t stop it,” he said pitifully. His breath hitched as you shortened your strokes, focusing on his swollen head. “It’s going to–come out–explode–”

“Just let it happen,” you whispered. “You won’t hurt me. Nothing bad will happen.”

“It–feels so good it almost hurts–”

You lengthened your strokes again, tending to his full length. He twitched and raised his hips to meet you, causing the edge of your palm to slap at the base of his erection. He moaned loud, a white haze glassing over his eyes, and his magic hugged you tightly in response.

He was absolutely stunning, dark hair fanned beneath his head, eyes pristine and powerfully white, lips full and red and hanging open in pleased bliss. He was still fully clothed, save for his lower garments sitting low on his thighs, and his chest swelled against the fabric of his shirt as he gasped in ecstasy.

A few final passes over his erection left him crying wildly, shuddering and writhing underneath you. You felt him tense up in your palm and swell to completion before he came, hard. You held your opposite hand over him, catching the bulk of his orgasm so that it wouldn’t soil his shirt.

As you continued milking his erection, he squirmed helplessly under you, erupting in a steady string of moans and cries that pitched and cracked as he screamed himself hoarse. His eyes remained frosted white and his Obscurus shivered around you, pulsing and spiking with every wave of pleasure that crashed over him.

You mercilessly pumped his weeping shaft, drinking in his raspy moans. He reached a point where his voice was completely giving out, his magic licking frantically at your skin. He was beyond the point of rational thought and he was bucking up into your hand, gasping and crying and–

The lights in the room flickered violently. As he peaked again, shuddering in a dry orgasm, the bulbs inside the lamps shattered, leaving the room pitch black. His Obscurus tickled your hips as it receded down, back to its host, and Credence panted roughly, whimpering in between breaths, as he became limp under you.

“Reparo,” you said softly, pulling the lamps back together. The warm light surged through the room again, washing over Credence’s tear-stained face. Your instant thought was that you’d pushed him too far, broken him, but the white was draining from his eyes, leaving warm, sated brown. His mouth curved slightly in a smile despite the tears and he looked utterly euphoric.

“Sweetheart?” you probed. “You all right? Was that okay?”

His arms shot up and around your shoulders, dragging you down to his chest. He buried his nose in your hair, breathing deeply and sobbing quietly. He trembled against you and squeezed you tightly.

“That was–it was–” He could barely catch his breath. “It wasn’t my Obscurus. I stayed in my body–it stayed inside.”

“Well, relatively speaking,” you said lightly.

“I thought I would disseminate,” he whimpered. “This whole time I was worried… But, it wasn’t–” He embraced you like his life depended on it. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“That was okay, then?” You lifted up so that you could look him in the eyes. He was still crying, but his expression was one of enlightenment.

“It was incredible,” he sighed. “It felt–it was–”

You dipped in to kiss him and he met your lips hungrily.


	2. Putting the Belt to Rest (Credence, Reader)

-It’s no surprise that Credence hates belts. However, there’s another fashionable item worn at the time–suspenders. It takes only a single day of watching him dress and undress, flinching as his belt slides through the loops, for you to purchase several pairs of suspenders for him. He almost cries when you gift them to him.  
-You tell him you’re going to get rid of that wretched belt and he’ll never have to think about it again.  
-“I want to burn it.”  
-You’re honestly a little shocked. It’s a reasonable request, but Credence has never been the bold type. Even against Mary Lou, who was so terrible to him, he never made threats or wished ill on her–a big part of him still feels a horrible guilt about her death. You know it’s the cycle of abuse, him convincing himself that she wasn’t all bad. You’re working through that.  
-But, you’re proud of him and you agree that destroying the tool that harmed him for so long will be therapeutic.  
-The flames cast sharp shadows over his cheekbones. He’s crying but also smiling. When you leave the smoldering pile of ash, you swear he’s standing a little taller.


	3. The Obscurus (Credence, Reader, Newt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt, Credence and Reader are a happy little family. Credence is being taught to use magic, Newt is doing what Newt does best, and Reader is along for the ride. The intent is Credence/Reader, but Newt/Credence or even Newt/Credence/Reader is perfectly possible, as well

-It takes ages, but Credence manages to gain some control over his Obscurus  
-It still creeps out if his emotions are high, but it has not burst out in a full rampage again since the incident in New York  
-Newt created a space in the case where Credence could go when he was overstimulated. Early on in his magical studies, Credence would seek shelter in that space. It had tall cliffs and perches and Credence, in Obscurus form, could leap back and forth across the fabricated landscape. This was surprisingly therapeutic and allowed him the play around with his motor skills while in that form. No longer was he crashing into skyscrapers and dragging ditches into the roads–he was gliding through the air, touching gently onto surfaces.  
-You and Newt manage to convince Credence that you are unafraid of his magic and encourage him to use it more in your presence–“The more comfortable you are using it openly,” Newt says, “the more control you will have of it. Don’t be afraid of your own power.”  
-You ask Credence to pass you an ingredient for a potion and are surprised to find the ingredient being offered to you, not by a hand but by a swirl of black. Credence looks up from the book he was reading, gains a horrified expression, and the Obscurus disintegrates, dropping the ingredient onto the table. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You gather him up in a hug, saying, “Don’t apologize, that was wonderful!”  
-The first time the Obscurus touches you, it is nothing like you were expecting. Credence is sleeping at Newt’s desk, and you don’t have the heart to wake him to move him to bed. You bring a blanket to drape over his back. The Obscurus rouses when the blanket is placed, swirling out and regarding you silently. You dare to reach your hand toward it. You’ve seen what is can do, saw how it lashed out in New York and left destruction in its wake. You expect it to be cold and sharp. It pokes at your hand then oozes between your fingers. It is warm and light, like a puff of breath against your knuckles. It’s form begins to shift, gaining a kind of weight. It’s not heavy at all and feels smooth and soft. It tickles your wrist, vibrating against your pulse. Then, it begins to slither up your arm to tickle the inside of your elbow. You are amazed by how slow and gentle this dark magic is and you are so entranced by it that you don’t notice that Credence has awoken and is staring at you. “W-what are you doing?” The Obscurus is startled and it flinches and you feel pinpricks everywhere that it’s touching. “What is i-it doing?” The Obcurus dissolves against your skin and it feels like an icy mist. “It’s okay, Credence,” you assure him, “I think it was just saying hello.”  
-The Obscurus feeds on Credence’s emotions and mental state and also his desires. It begins to gain a “mind” of its own–and that persona is incredibly protective of the one’s closest to Credence, mainly you and Newt.  
-Since the time that Newt began harboring Credence, the three of you have been on the run. The MACUSA pardoned Credence, by some miracle, but there are still dark forces that would love nothing more than to steal Credence away.  
-The only time the Obscurus has acted out violently has been when you or Newt were in danger. At one time you were cornered by an opposing wizard and your assailant was very nearly ripped in half by the Obscurus–and behind it, Credence stood, looking terrified that you’d been hurt. His arm was outstretched, but you couldn’t honestly tell if he’d sent his Obscurus out or if it had acted on its own.  
-The Obscurus, very surprisingly, is timid–much in the same ways as Credence. You’ve seen Newt return from capturing a wayward beast with deep cuts on his arms and chest. Though he’s in good spirits–“Look who I’ve found now! Isn’t she beautiful? She doesn’t even bite very hard!”–Credence is very distressed by the wounds. You prepare warm towels and disinfectant salve to cleanse the wounds–Newt not-so-secretly enjoys keeping the scars from his beasts and requests that they be allowed to heal naturally if at all possible. While you blot away the blood, you notice Credence is sitting close but is hugging himself tightly, afraid to touch Newt. His Obscurus, however, is whisping outward, tentatively kissing the wounds you haven’t yet tended to. Newt lightly caresses the black tendril–it feels like steam and his hand will run straight through it if he isn’t careful–and the Obscurus shivers with an audible hum. Credence almost apologizes for letting the thing touch him, but Newt’s beside himself and has the hugest grin–“Well, isn’t this something? There, there, I’m fine, no worries. Oh–that tickles!”–and Credence, for once, knows his presence is very much wanted


	4. Nurturing (Credence)

Credence Before:  
-Can we talk about how it’s such a damn shame that Credence wasn’t allowed to be himself growing up? He’s intensely protective of those younger and smaller than him–because honestly, if anybody had it worse than him, it would be one of the street children or sweet Chastity who had been molded into a cynical magic-fearing teenager, or precious Modesty who was always teetering so close to rebellion that he knew she’d get the switch any day.  
-The children knew to avoid him, because he was the ultimate example of what they didn’t want to become. But, that was okay. The more they resented him, the less guilty they’d feel if they took something from him–Ma would hand his meal off to one of the street boys if he’d been bad. And, it was okay. Because they needed it more than him and didn’t need to feel bad about taking it. Best that they disliked him, best that they survived.  
-He was once close to Chastity, before Ma broke her. He has no idea what even happened to her, but it had to be worse than what was ever done to him. She no longer complained to him or snuck him food or came to him in the night to press a cool cloth against his stinging knuckles. He was her punishment, he later realized. The closer they became, the worse he was beaten, and she couldn’t bear it. Better to hunt witches than bring the belt down on her brother.  
-He remained close to Modesty, up until she knew the truth about him. He was in the process of teaching her to read–secretly, of course. Ma was teaching her scripture but Credence was reading her Hemingway from a book one of the street boys had stolen. Up until Chastity had turned twelve, the Barebone children all shared a room. While Chastity slept–or at least pretended to–Modesty would sneak into Credence’s bed and he’d read quietly to her. At twelve, though, something about Chastity drastically changed and the girls got their own room. Credence missed the reading terribly, but not as much as knowing they were close–just a glance away.

In the Case:  
-Newt calls himself “Mummy,” which is both endearing and completely, utterly strange to Credence. Newt is exactly what Credence imagines a “mother” should be: strict at times, but flexible more often than not, protective, and fiercely loving.  
-Credence barely has an authoritative bone in his whole body and he assumes the role of the doting brother that spoils the beasts completely rotten. He is so amazed by them and what they can do and he just wants them to have free reign to flourish.  
-He becomes the quick favorite to most of the inhabitants of the case  
-“Pickett has been hanging on me lately? You’re sure? No, no, I’m not feeding him anything. Well, only a bit here and there. But, Newt, he really likes honey.”  
-Though the desert area is a little arid for the Occamies, Frank’s release left that enclosure feeling empty. Credence secretly sneaks the Occamies into the wide open and watches them grow exponentially and fly and twist and tumble in the sky together.  
-The baby Graphorn is HIS baby and no one will tell him otherwise. The little creature tackles Credence at every feeding. Credence is ridiculously proud of the baby and shows him extra care, keeping him bathed and clipping his hooves and giving him extra food portions–he’s growing, he needs it!  
-Dougal has become especially fond of him. The Demiguise has a nurturing nature and has taking to “babysitting” Credence. Ever been covered in Demiguise hair after said beast has been hanging all over you? Because Credence has, and removing all those invisible hairs from one’s clothes is a terribly tedious task.  
-Credence absolutely can’t handle the Mooncalves. They swarm him every time he enters their enclosure. Excited to the Nth degree, the wide-eyed creatures always manage to trip him and when he hits the ground, it’s just over. Newt searches for Credence some hours later, only to find his asssitant trapped in the Mooncalf cuddle puddle. There is no escape.

The Aftermath, or Credence is an Adult™ Now  
-No matter the outcome for him, be it with with another man or a woman or with Newt, even, he would be happier with children–biological or adopted or mentored or fostered.  
-He tends to take a backseat to raising any children–he’s better now, but he’s still broken and if he buggered it up and had a hand in raising a child to be as broken as him…  
-You/Newt assure(s) him that he would be brilliant because he is not-so-secretly the only one that can make the babies stop crying, that is just intimidating enough naturally to make an impression with the boys, that is strong enough but also gentle enough to win over the little girls. His instantaneous affinity with creatures translates to children as well, though he is completely in denial about it.  
-He is absolutely beside himself when his child develops magic. They show the signs and he is simultaneously terrified and ecstatic. He has no idea what to do with a magical child except shower them with praise–if doesn’t matter that they levitated the couch outside and into space, turned the cat blue, and turned every fork in the house into spatulas. He will never let his child be afraid of their magic.  
-When a child is born of his blood, he learns entirely too much about the nightmare of being an Obscurial. No other has lived as long as he has, never into teenage years, let alone an age that would ever allow procreation. He imagines that he’s the first Obscurial to father a child, honestly.  
-It’s not just a magical force caused by repression, but a genetic anomaly.


	5. In Sickness (Credence x Reader fluff)

-Credence was never given additional care if he ever became sick–none of the Barebone children received that luxury. Sickness did not exclude one from chores nor from spreading propaganda against witches.  
-Because of poor conditions at home–lack of proper nutrients, barely warm-enough clothes, stress, etc.–the Barebone children often fell ill, Credence especially (likely his Obscurus compounded the frailty of his immune system)  
-The siblings would try to tend to one another when sickness arose, but Ma did not approve of it. Illness was God’s way of punishing sin and tending to the sick meant coddling their evil.  
-Credence became very good at hiding illness–he never wanted the girls to receive scorn for helping him  
-When the girls were sick he would stay up into the night tending to them while Ma slept: bringing them extra blankets, blotting a wet cloth against their heads, filling their water cups as quickly as they drained them.  
-During those times, Credence refused to eat. He would sneak extra food to the girls when Ma wasn’t looking.

-Now that those days are long over, Credence doesn’t seem to ever get sick. You feed him well, clothe him appropriately, and he’s happier now than he ever dreamed he could be.  
-You are also incredibly resilient to illness, but when you come down with something, Credence is hyper aware and suggests with as much authority as he can muster that you should stay in bed  
-You learn quickly that he’s actually decent at cooking–chicken soup always does the trick. Plus tea with honey and lemon. Plus, he’s been reading your herbology textbooks and he’s discovering all kinds of spices with healing properties.  
-When you drift to sleep, your breathing is shallow and congested but when you wake, a cool salve has been applied to your chest to open your airways.  
-Credence really doesn’t even want you to walk anywhere–even in your own house–so he carries you to the bath–and sweet Merlin, when did he get strong enough to just effortlessly tote you around??  
-When your fever is reaching its peak and your bones ache from the shivering, he piles the blankets around you, cuddles beside you. You press into him and he holds you snugly. You can’t help but notice how endearing this side of him is.  
-BONUS when he gets better control over his Obscurus. Its temperature varies depending on his mood–cold and sharp when he’s anxious or warm like steam when he’s content. When you’re shivering out of your skin, he wills the the wisps of his magic out and blankets you with them. It’s toasty and cozy and when you snuggle closer he squeezes tightly.  
-If you fall asleep on any part of him, there’s an unspoken rule that he can’t move. His arm has long since fallen asleep, you might even be drooling on him a bit, but that doesn’t matter. He’s in for the long haul and he won’t be moving until you wake up.

ADDITIONAL sick!Credence  
-Because he had to downplay his illness while Ma was still around, he is reluctant to accept care from you when he does get sick  
-It takes forever to convince him to just relax and rest  
-When he finally gives in and submits to bedrest, it takes very little to make him content. He loses his appetite when he’s not feeling well and he’s happy to just sleep it off.  
-He does enjoy a long bath to wash away the sick. At one point, during a particularly tired, delirious ramble he asked you to wash his hair for him because he was feeling gross but also really weak.  
-You didn’t miss a beat and agreed. Though he was mortified that he had asked, he quickly melted under your fingers. Now, whenever he isn’t feeling well, he doesn’t protest at all if you offer to wash his hair–it’s one of the few indulgences that he allows himself without guilt  
-The only other thing he craves while sick is touch–not that he doesn’t crave it normally, but he’s much more insistent when he feels bad. He nuzzles into your neck, arms draped lazily over you. He sleeps easily if you pet his hair, rub his back, and he whines if you stop–so you don’t.


	6. Jealousy (Credence x Reader)

He knows that Envy is a sin, but it’s so hard to set aside the things he was raised to believe, and when he sees you talking to other people, he can’t help the sickly green feeling that clenches his gut. Men or women, it doesn’t matter. They’re all standing close, talking to you, carrying on like normal, undamaged humans, and he HATES it. He wishes that he could speak to you that openly in public, but there’s still a part of him that thinks he’s worthless, that you are so far above him, that he has no right to monopolize your attention

There is an incident. You’re no longer in America, having long since begun traveling with Mr. Scamander. You find yourselves overseas, in search of some fantastic beast. Mr. Scamander is busy with his manuscript, but he hears about an opportunity to obtain a creature with a rare color morph. You offer to go pick it up. Credence will come too, you say, in case you need help.

The pick-up isn’t dangerous, for once. It’s a legitimate seller and the exchange is easy. You pass the little creature off to Credence while you make payment. The seller is highly interested in you, fingers lingering on your hand a little too long when the money is exchanged.

Credence notices–definitely–and the air becomes heavy with his Obscurus. You try hurry your business, but the seller is stalling you as long as possible, doesn’t seem to notice how on edge your companion has become.

When you finally leave, you take the little beast from Credence–the weight of his Obscurus has frightened the tiny creature–and loop your arm in his.

“Please don’t be upset,” you say.

He wants to speak about how hurt he’s feeling, but there’s a crowd. It’s difficult enough to walk arm-in-arm with you without feeling unworthy. He feels people staring–they can see the difference between the two of you, he imagines, can see how lowly he is.

When you return home, Mr. Scamander busies himself with the new addition and you excuse yourself and Credence to the small room that has been set up on the other side of the Mooncalf enclosure–your room. The door barely closes behind you before you pull Credence into a kiss. He sighs, like a weight has been lifted, and he tangles his fingers in your hair.

“I was so angry,” he says between kisses. “I’m sorry. I don’t like when others speak to you, when they touch you. I’m so sorry. I know I was losing control, but I was so angry.”

You allow him to pin you to the wall. He is stunned by his assertion for only a moment before you lock lips with him again.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whimpers, “and I know it–everyone knows it, the way they look. But, I–I just want you so badly–”

You stop him there. “Don’t deserve me? What on earth are you talking about?”

There’s a moment of confusion. He repeats that he’s seen the way people look at him while he’s with you.

Oh. He doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know how his frame has filled out. How his hair has gotten longer and softer. How his cheeks have become vibrant and his eyes have gained a glimmer of defiance. How he no longer slouches and so he moves with fluidity and grace.

“Love, they aren’t staring because of me,” you say. “In fact… do you really not know how many people have been trying to catch your eye?”

His breath catches in his throat. No… that’s not possible. Not him.

“Credence, I’m hardly the attractive one out of the two of us,” you say with a laugh. “It’s troubling, really… thinking about how long you’ll want to stick with me–”

The audacity of your words shakes him so much that a black haze plays at the ends of his hair. He kisses you, searching forcefully. When you pull apart, he says, “You’re being ridiculous. No one thinks of me that way.”

“I do,” you argue.

“But I belong to you!” he says suddenly. Your eyes blink wide and his face flushes deeply when he realizes what he’s said.

You taste the silence. He’s afraid what you might say next. “What am I to you, then?”

His eyes look glistening wet. He feels sick and shameful, but he admits, “You’re mine. You’re only mine. I don’t want anyone else near you.”

Your arms circle his neck, holing him close. “I feel the same.”

He sighs into your shoulder, unabashedly, thinking, ‘Mine, mine, mine.’


	7. Defensive (Credence x Reader)

-Credence is filling out, both physically and mentally. He’s beginning to stand straighter, head held higher. You’ve fostered confidence in him, encouraged him to question and argue, praised him for embracing his independence

Physical defense:  
-he’s always had a deep protective instinct and that small measure of confidence pushes him to act out his desire to defend  
-there are plenty of wizards who are looking for Credence and you often get caught up in it  
-if anyone dares to threaten you, they are met with the very intimidating weight of Credence’s magic. He’s good at keeping his Obscurus under wraps now, but he’ll push it just to the surface, just enough to make the air heavy.  
-Credence slouching is taller than you–standing straight he’s positively formidable beside you  
-he puts his height to good use, often walking a step in front of you to clear the crowds  
-(granted, he still gets anxious when he has to be assertive, but for you he’ll manage)

Verbal defense:  
-Credence was always the quiet type. He read when he could, accumulating vocabulary. Since he began living with you, he had drunk down countless texts, amassing a mountain of knowledge–and Credence is brilliant, literally brilliant, when he does decide to speak  
-he usually doesn’t get into lengthy discussions with strangers–you, on the other hand, will stay up into the morning hours hashing out magical theory with him  
-he reserves his argumentative side for people that dare to question you  
-your profession is a niche in the magical community and, though there are many things you aren’t well-versed in many areas, you are second to none in your field  
-you were once at the center of a heated discussion in which some old, stuffy wizards were scrutinizing your charmwork  
-you were becoming flustered by the barrage of criticism, finding difficulty forming a good argument  
-Credence was clenching his fists painfully, furious that you were being put in such a position. Sure, he had put you on a pedestal and regarded you with biased awe–but you truly were brilliant if you were in your element. These wizards were trying to humiliate you and Credence was livid.  
-to the surprise of absolutely everyone present, Credence inserted himself into the conversation. He asked the wizards what source material they were using because he is “fairly certain that according to the theories proposed by so and so and such and such…”  
-this continues at length and Credence makes sure that no one can get a word in edgewise. He essentially obliterates your competition and you can’t help but just… stare  
-when you return home, Credence is back to his demure self. You haven’t spoken much to him since the confrontation–you can’t find the words  
-he begin to apologize–apologize!–and he hopes he didn’t embarrass you and he should have stayed out of it but he knows how clever you are and how dare they–  
-you kiss him soundly and Credence melts into you, actually proud of himself


	8. Asexuality (Newt x Reader) NSFW mentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am asexual and I was having some intense feels for asexual!Newt… these are pretty deeply personal.

-Newt has always been averse to penetrative sex because it’s incredibly hard for him to get an erection in the moment–partially because he simply isn’t attracted and partially because of performance anxiety

-Was in a relationship with Leta Lestrange that was incredibly toxic  
-Newt tried to become sexual–really, painfully tried–for Leta, but the first time they had sex it was a mediocre disaster. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, chalking it up to nerves. Their next encounter was just as disappointing and she made him feel incredibly bad about it  
-he religiously studied how to please her in other ways and became proficient in using his hands and, much to his actual displeasure, his mouth  
-she still insisted on getting him off and was never successful. Half the time he was so distressed by her refusal to let him go that he wasn’t able to maintain an erection or even get it up in the first place  
-he slept over many times. Sometimes he would get an erection as he woke up or because of some trivial movement and she would immediately try to take advantage of it. She would become hostile when even then she would be unable to get him off  
-their relationship ended roughly but he never recovered from her, from the trauma she caused him

-mating is natural, among humans and animals, but even animals can be asexual  
-Newt notices, only because of the way he is, that a certain little Bowtruckle refuses to take a mate. He’s smaller than the others and gets sick easily, but that should have no effect on his ability to mate. Bowtruckles don’t fight for dominance.  
-Newt carries Pickett around at first because he’s sick and needs a little extra warmth  
-Newt continues to carry Pickett because the little Bowtruckle is exactly like him and Newt absolutely refuses to force another living being into the sort of situations that Newt himself has suffered due to being different

-Newt does masturbate, even likes the feeling of it  
-It’s not something that he thinks he’ll ever be comfortable sharing with someone else. It’s pleasurable, but also very clinical and a way to relieve stress. There is no emotion attached to it

————

Newt x supportive sexual!Reader:

-Newt is incredibly romantic, maybe almost hyper-romantic  
-He greatly enjoys touching, cuddling, kissing–as long as it is kept far away from his genitals  
-at first, he was so enamored by you–you were so interested in his creatures and traveling with him and a relationship with him had really been a surprising development–that he neglected to tell you about his asexuality  
-he thought maybe–just maybe!–he would be able to work it out. You were, after all, a “giver,” as Queenie would say, and Newt thought maybe things would play out differently with you. Maybe, by some miracle, he could become aroused with you. Maybe he would enjoy it. Maybe, if he didn’t enjoy it directly, he could keep up the facade in the heat of the moment, long enough to please you

-They didn’t. He couldn’t.

-he fell apart the first time he tried. He loved you, sweet Merlin did he love you, but he just couldn’t, not even for you.  
-you touched his penis and all the memories of Leta came rushing back  
-he snapped at you, not even meaning to, and withdrew to a very dark place  
-“Newt, tell me what’s going on? What did I do wrong?”  
-he almost laughs. What “"you”“ did wrong, like ”“he”“ wasn’t the defective one  
-"I’m completely, irreversibly asexual, I’m afraid.” He has to put on his “"scholarly”“ voice or he’ll completely shatter. "I feel no desire in that way, never have. I don’t know why I ever thought I could.”  
-“We’ve kissed and touched all this time,” you say, confused. “Has that all… has it been nothing?”  
-“It isn’t sex,” he says simply.  
-Best case scenario, he thinks, you’ll leave him. Worst case, you’ll stay and try to convert him, as many people are want to do. He’s preparing for the worst case.  
-“So you enjoy kissing and the like?” He’s silent and you dip down to kiss him. He reluctantly kisses back, fully expecting that next you’ll come back saying how ‘we can work slow, it just takes time, you’ll like it all eventually.’  
-You pull back and Newt hasn’t protested the kiss. You assume that those sorts of touches are fair game.  
-You see the hurt in his eyes, the tears building. He’s lived this before, with someone who didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Someone pushed him, scarred him in a way that is making him retreat from you. You are furious. Furious, because you love this incredible man  
-he is entirely dumbfounded when you say, “It’s fine. I don’t need it.”  
-“You don’t understand what you’re committing to,” he warns. “You’ll want it and I won’t be able to give it to you.”  
-“If I can stay with you, that’s enough for me. And if you do like the kissing, well that’s just the cherry on top. I don’t need the rest. It’s not worth losing you.”  
-he’s floored and guarded and he can’t believe you because there’s no possible way that you’re serious  
-but, what if you are?  
-what if?

-he takes the risk  
-you rescue fantastic beasts together, travel to incredible places. You snuggle at night, laughing and rehashing the things you’ve seen that day–“wasn’t she lovely–that wingspan was incredible!–did you see what that herd was eating?–they’re omnivorous, this is groundbreaking!” You touch and wiggle against one another and it’s comforting and easy and so intimate without becoming convoluted by sex. You kiss deeply and soundly, basking in the fuzzy glow of it. You personally become aroused by it, but you know Newt doesn’t, and that’s okay. He’s so obviously in love that you are drowning in his affection, and you honestly won’t be bothered by anything else


	9. Boggart (Credence x Reader)

After smuggling you and Credence out of America, Newt had directed you to his little flat in the countryside. He traveled on to finish out his manuscript but told you to make yourselves at home while he was gone. 

Newt’s flat was quaint but all the surfaces inside were covered in a layer of dust from the months of neglect. You dedicated the first day in the flat to whipping it into livable condition. Credence split apart from you, working on one end while you began at the other. His years in the church had conditioned him to cleaning with military precision and he worked very quickly. He had brushed over every nook and cranny by hand in the time it took you to do the same with magic. Eventually, you surrendered the dusting to him while you organized the common area and arranged the spare bedroom to your tastes.

Credence shuffled in to clean the spare room as you slipped back out into the kitchen. Newt had a haphazard arrangement of ingredients for potions loading the countertops and you wanted to sort through them and label any toxic ingredients, just in case Credence got curious about potion making.

Credence tidied the bedroom while you worked. You had placed suitcases on the bed—one expanded case to hold your wardrobe and some essential items and one small case that held Credence’s meager belongings. He called out through the flat, asking if you wanted him to put your things away.

“That’s fine!” you shouted back. “The chest of drawers or the closet, either place is fine. My delicates are in a separate bag, so don’t mind them!”

Credence blushed red-hot—like he would sort through your underwear, honestly! 

He dug deep into the expanded case, marveling at the magic of it. This case wasn’t expanded to the same scale that Newt’s was, but it was still impressive. He laid out your clothes, dividing them into items that could be folded and those that needed to be hung in the closet. Then, he gathered the ones to be hung and pulled the closet open.

You nearly dropped a stack of dried Elephant Ear leaves as you heard a clamoring from the bedroom—the sound of metal hangers hitting the floor and a rough thump like Credence had tumbled down. You called, “Everything okay?” When you received no response, you repeated, “Credence? What was that sound?”

You stalked through the house, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway. Credence was on the floor, backed into the bedframe, and outright cowering under the menacing form of Mary Lou Barebone. She was slinking out of the closest, a searing glare on her features. 

A Boggart. A damn Boggart in the closet.

You cursed yourself for not checking before leaving the room, as the beasts did have a tendency to hide out in quiet houses. You drew your wand and commanded, “Credence, close your eyes, okay?”

“But she’s—she’s gone, because I—”

“Just don’t look at it,” you said. “It’s a magical creature. Close your eyes and I’ll deal with it. Please.” You knew the fear you felt in New York when you thought Credence had died. It was definitely the worst nightmare you could possibly have. You knew you’d have to step in front of the Boggart and become its target before you’d have the power to deal with it—and it would most definitely show you an image of Credence dying.

He quietly drew his knees to his chest and buried in face into them. The Boggart hissed and hovered toward him, clenching a belt in its claws, and you jumped between it and Credence. The creature snarled and swirled into a new fear, your fear. 

It morphed into a beaten and torn up version Credence, as you knew it would, and it slammed to the floor, holding out a bloody hand to you. You steeled yourself, trying to think of something humorous to stop the beast. When you could think of nothing, you simply conjured an image of a fading Obscurus and shouted, “Riddikulus!”

The spell cracked out of your wand like a whip and Boggart-Credence screamed into a cloud of black sand, dispelling throughout the room. You kept your gaze fixed on it, but said, “It’s safe to look now, Credence. I’ve subdued it.”

He peered up from his knees, gasping at the darkness that surrounded you. “That’s… an Obscurus?”

“This creature is called a Boggart,” you said. “It’s… oh, what do No-Majes call it? A boogeyman, I think.”

“A boogeyman?” Credence echoed. “Really? Like a monster under the bed?”

“That’s it,” you agreed. “It turns into whatever the person in front of it fears the most. That’s why it turned into your mother.”

“What was it for you?” he asked quietly.

You opened the window and shooed the Boggart-Obscurus out, casting a ward over the window to keep it from returning. Sighing, you turned to Credence and offered him your arm. He took your hand in his and leveraged himself up.

You smiled at him sadly and drew him into a hug. His heart was beating wildly in residual fright as he tucked you close to his chest. He could guess what your fear might be, especially since you had ordered him to avert his eyes. You were very protective of him, after all. He rested his head atop yours, breathing deeply to calm himself.

“Are you okay?” you asked, soothing your hands over his back. 

“Just startled,” he replied. “Even though I know she’s gone, for her to appear like that…”

You gave him a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I should have checked the closets. Newt would have a damn Boggart in his house.” You reeled back from him, looking him in the eyes. “D’you want to sort through potion ingredients with me? We’ll come back to putting our things away later.”

He nodded and you led him out to the kitchen.


End file.
